


Being Conscious

by NHarmonic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Child Death, Death of Pedophile, John is wise, M/M, Problem with no right answer, Rape and Violence goes towards off-screen child death, Sherlock has a heart, all off screen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9301352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NHarmonic/pseuds/NHarmonic
Summary: Summary: For the first time, Sherlock Holmes, doesn’t have the answer. For the first time, Sherlock’s emotions hinder him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> All of those warnings apply to this story. There is children death's but we don't read about it; just that they were raped and killed by a pedophile, who in the end got what's comin' to 'em.

They say that there is a first time for everything. Typically this phrase is used to coerce humans into doing something that could be detrimental to their life or fail horribly. Sherlock tended to ignore this phrase as there wasn’t much he wouldn’t or couldn’t do, and if he couldn’t do it, he could research the hell out of it. But then there are situations which have no right answer.

Three weeks ago, a house on foreclosure was investigated and within its basement, the bodies of three boys, all under ten, were discovered. All three boys were severely beaten, raped, and their bodies mutilated. A further search of the house discovered that they had been videotaped, and these videos have been uploaded onto multiple kiddie-porn sites, all of which, were untraceable. 

Sherlock Holmes was in the case, of course. This case unsettled him, but he didn’t let it stop him. John as his companion and anchor, Sherlock searched high and low for the man who murdered those boys, and statically, ten more. It was three weeks later that all evidence led to an alley.

Douglas Avery, age 30, murdered. Penis and testicles were burned off, while the man was alive, and are currently missed. Avery’s death was rather merciful after that, as he was then killed by a single cut to the throat. It was sloppy and messy. There was plenty of evidence, for Sherlock at least, and the consulting detective found he could use none of it.

“There’s your pedophile, we’re going home,” Sherlock said firmly.

“Sherlock!” Greg called in protest. “There’s still a murderer out there!”

“Dead or alive is not my responsibility,” Sherlock countered, fixing his collar. “Come along John.”

“Sherlock, we can’t just-,” John paused at the look in Sherlock’s eyes. He could see something; something different. “Alright, Sherlock.”

The cab ride was silent for about half the trip before John said anything. Sherlock had spent the ride looking out the window. With the way he was picking at the nicotine patch on his arm, John knew he was craving a cigarette. All of this worried John, because he knew the detective never did anything to show how he felt. Not like this.

“Are you alright?” John asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” Sherlock replied in monotone.

The truth was; he wasn’t. Sherlock tended to enjoy deducing people, especially when he recited it aloud and John praised him. No one had ever done that before, and now, he heard it almost every day. With John encouraging his abilities and telling him when not to use it so he wouldn’t be hurt by those he deduced, Sherlock wasn’t one for holding back. Until today.

Sherlock looked at the crime scene, the pedophilic-murderer tortured and dead, and instantly, he knew who killed him. And yet, despite solving a crime in mere moments of looking, Sherlock kept it to himself. He didn’t know what came over him. It had felt like, still feels like, his throat had swelled up and his whole body had tensed like he was under attack. Suddenly, John’s praise, or the pleasure of degrading Scotland Yard, didn’t seem that great.

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock blinked, leaving his mind palace as he turned to John. John was out of the cab, looking at him as he leaned into the door.

“We’re home,” John said calmly; he knew Sherlock wasn’t himself.

Sherlock paying the cab fare only affirmed what John knew, and made him more worried. Nothing more was said as they went to their flat, John only pausing to reassure Mrs. Hudson when she came out to greet them. Sherlock went to John’s chair, rather than his couch to lie die. Sherlock put his hands together and rested his lips on his fingers. John said nothing to him, merely squeezing Sherlock’s shoulder as he passed him to the kitchen; he made some tea for himself and the detective.

Thirty minutes later, a record shortest amount of time for Sherlock to be in his mind palace, he finally spoke.

“I know who killed Douglas Avery,” he said, looking at John.

John looked up from his tea. “Oh?” he asked, keeping calm. “And why you didn’t say anything?”

Sherlock didn’t detect any accusation or anger in John’s tone, so he continued. “I do not know,” he replied honestly; revealing the truth made his chest lighter, to his confusion.

“Well,” John said, putting his cup down. “What is their connection? Why did they kill Avery?”

“Probably because his little brother was in that basement,” Sherlock stared intently, then his expression became pinched.

John watched Sherlock’s eyebrows furrow and watched him swallow. Sherlock’s hand went to his chest unwillingly.

“I don’t understand,” Sherlock whispered. “What is this?”

“Emotions, Sherlock,” John replied.

Sherlock’s scoffed. “I am a high-functioning sociopath,” he denied, “I have no emotions.”

“You do,” John stressed, “You just don’t like using them.”

“Well, why would I?” Sherlock huffed, then suddenly looked vulnerable, “They hurt.”

“They’re supposed to hurt,” John said, “And feel good, or bad, and make you happy, or sad.”

“I don't like them,” Sherlock stated.

John chuckled as he stood, taking his empty cup. “It means you’re human Sherlock,” he replied.

“The horror,” Sherlock grimaced.

“Tell you what,” John invited, “How about I go pick up dinner, and you solve the crime?”

Sherlock said nothing and John left. Sherlock frowned at his phone, silently contemplating. John had left him with a decision. Solve the crime, he said. So solve it with Lestrade?... or a higher power; just this once.

Sherlock made his decision and picked up the phone. “I want to speak to my brother.”

**Author's Note:**

> End.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> I don’t really have anything to add to this. It is what it is. We never see Sherlock solve any crimes involving kids (except with Mori) and I thought I’d put this in. Despite what Sherl says, i don’t anyone can simply look at a child’s body and feel nothing.  
> Anyways, Ja ne.


End file.
